


Strength

by MissCricket



Series: Stories of Carver Hawke [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Camp (Dragon Age), Getting Together, Hero of Fereldan Carver Hawke, M/M, Meddling, Warden Carver Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 09:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20225689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCricket/pseuds/MissCricket
Summary: There is something about their leader that Alistair likes.(AU where Carver Hawke is the Warden / Hero of Fereldan)





	Strength

**Author's Note:**

> Requested and inspired by Lothering Man Steals 50 Mabari on the Carver appreciation Discord.

“There is something about him, yes?”

Alistair jolted, dropping his metal plate mail in surprise before he snatched it back up again, glaring at the smug smile of the elf beside him.

“You happy now? Sneaking up on people and giving them a shock, you should feel ashamed of yourself.”

“That would assume I had the capacity to feel shame no?” Zevran pointed out smugly, elegantly folding himself to sit beside him as Alistair rolled his eyes.

“...Point taken.”

“And besides, I hardly snuck up on you my dear Alistair,” the elf continued, grin widening as Alistair shot him another glare, “You were just...entirely focused.”

There was a purr to those last two words, making them sound almost dripping with debauchery in a way that only Zevran could. If he protested, the elf would simply point out the innocent words themselves and ignore the tone, enjoying getting him flustered. Well he refused to be flustered this time.

“Cleaning armour is an absorbing task.”

The elf tutted at him.

“My dear Alistair you hadn’t moved that polishing cloth in at least five minutes. No you were far too busy staring at our illustrious leader.”

Alistair flushed, instantly and hotly, “I was not staring!”

“Positively drooling,” Morrigan informed him, sailing past with her bowl of stew, and a smirk on her lips.

Alistair glared after her, “I was not!”

“I am sorry to say my friend,” Zevran turned his attention back around, “But you undoubtedly were. And that is a good thing!”

Alistair frowned, glancing across the fire again, “...it is?”

“Indeed.” Zevran smiled and plucked a tiny dagger from seemingly thin air, beginning to clean his nails with it, “He is rather appealing.”

That was an understatement, Alistair thought quietly to himself, taking in the man’s broad shoulders as he roughoused with the Mabari he’d named Dash.

Appealing was too small a word to take in his companion and leader. Without Carver, Alistair would never have left the Wilds, too overwhelmed by his grief and the enormity of what had happened at Ostagar. Without Carver Alistair would have given up long ago, and many different times on this quest. But he knew, just from the stubborn jut of his chin when something new went awry for them, that Carver wasn’t going to give up.

It wasn’t in his nature.

He’d seemed young and taciturn when they’d first met, an unpleasant fellow, that had been his first impression. And he’d been wrong. Whispers had quickly followed, speaking of Templars and Mages and an almost execution. In the Wilds Carver had fought better than any of the other recruits, with less skill perhaps than Ser Jory, but with more commitment and passion. And the same had been true in the Tower of Ishal, rallying men behind him and charging in, putting his own body in the firing line first and giving everyone the courage to keep fighting.

But it was in Lothering where Alistair realised how wrong he’d been about Carver Hawke.

A local told him the story with gusto, after Carver had gotten accosted by the Templars within moments of entering the town. About how Carver’s twin sister had revealed herself accidentally as a Mage, and how. when the Templars had come to take both her and his elder brother to the Circle, Carver had held the door to the cottage and taken down Templar after Templar, giving them time to escape until finally the overwhelming numbers had brought him low. They’d been going to hang him in the square, the woman said, an example...but Duncan had invoked the Right of Conscription, and so Carver Hawke had become a Grey Warden.

Carver hadn’t complained, hadn’t flinched at getting them coins and work, hadn’t backed down when he negotiated with the Chantry Mother about releasing Sten. He kept moving them forward, mouth compressed in a tight line as the people, who’d once been his neighbours, shunned, shouted at, or attacked them.

It had been the beginning...and everything since...Redcliffe, the Circle, the Ritual to save Connor,, the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and the dragon they’d had to fight, had all increased Alistair’s regard for him.

But it was only more recently that it had become more than simple comradeship, more than the brotherhood that came with being a Grey Warden.

Carver didn’t laugh often, but when he did it was either this puffed chuckle, warm and pleasant, or a bark of helpless joy that left him wheezing until he could master himself once more. The latter never failed to make Alistair laugh too, it was that infectious and joyful...and the former?

The former had begun to send warm molten gold tendrils of pleasure through his veins.

His dreams had become re-imaginings of their adventures, with Alistair rescuing Carver, or Carver rescuing Alistair.

“I almost lost you.” he could almost hear the words in Carver’s concerned growl, before the man kissed him and he woke, desperately longing for more.

His eyes lingered on his companion’s well muscled back far more often, admiring and tracing the sweeping curves of well defined muscle. He got lost in those deep, wellspring blue eyes.

Appealing? Oh yes…

But he was so much more.

“Mmmm…” he made a non-commital noise, unable to put all those feelings into an appropriate response...and worried that they would carry through regardless.

“Alistair,” Leliana appeared beside him and crouched there, hand gently resting on his shoulder, “You like him yes?”

He couldn’t answer, tongue feeling swollen, but he looked over towards Carver again, who was grinning as he watched the Mabari fetching a stick.

“Yes,” Zevran answered for him, “He desires him at least.”

“Hey!” Alistair hissed.

“That is good,” Leliana soothed him, smiling brightly, “It is healthy to desire physical intimacy.”

“Normal even,” Zevran nodded, “And our illustrious leader is an attractive man.”

“I’ve known Carver a long time,” Leliana pointed out, “He’s grown up well.”

Alistair frowned slightly at that. He hated the reminder that Carver had had a crush on Leliana, back before he’d become a Warden. Carver had told him about it in a tavern on the shores of Lake Calenhad. How he’d sat in the Chantry, listened to her murmuring the Chant of Light, how he’d chickened out of telling her his feelings all those times.

A boy’s crush, he’d called it, blue eyes lifting to meet Alistair’s, one that had paled and faded now in the light of his new life.

Still...Carver had desired her once…

And Alistair?

Maker...but what he felt for Carver...that was more than simple desire.

He’d do a great deal to see that bright smile, so rarely bestowed.

He’d give even more to have him look back at Alistair the way he longed for.

But the thought of Carver drawing back, either kindly saying that he appreciated it but didn’t feel the same, or even being insulted that Alistair had…

He couldn’t...he couldn’t...

“He’d probably be amenable to a quick tumble.” Zevran’s voice broke into his longing reverie and he choked.

“Maker’s Breath!”

“Don’t sound so scandalised Alistair,” Leliana teased him, “Carver is a handsome man and I have heard that Grey Wardens have...excellent stamina.”

“We are not talking about this!” Alistair hissed back, but his reproof was only met with a pair of bright and wicked grins, “Alright, I’m going.”

Four hands, slender but surprisingly strong, pushed him down as he tried to get to his feet.

“Oh no you’re not,” Leliana scolded, waggling a finger at him, “You have been pining over him for over a month...your eyes light up when you see him. Why will you not take the chance for pleasure offered?”

“Is it your inexperience?” Zevran asked, head cocking to the side, “Because we can resolve that very easily. I have this excellent training technique that involves balls.”

“Maker, no!” Alistair grumbled back, “I don’t need your balls!”

Suddenly he realised how loudly he said those last few words, and looked around towards Carver, only to come face to face with a pair of strong legs.

“Well I’m glad to hear that Alistair,” Carver Hawke remarked from above those legs, and Alistair closed his eyes, wondering what the chances were of self immolation from shame were. At least Carver sounded amused, “Are you two tormenting him again?”

“We never torment him,” Leliana’s voice was sweet as honey and Alistair contemplated throttling her, “He gets all knotted up on his own.”

“Maybe you can help us with this Carver,” Zevran’s voice on the other hand, held nothing but playful wickedness and Alistair’s neck prickled ominously, “Alistair is in love,”

Alistair choked on his tongue.

“Hoplessly.” Leliana agreed, “He loves and lusts, and pines from afar.”

“Is that so?” Alistair dared a glance up, and took in Carver’s face. The smile from before had dimmed, and now it looked brittle, fake, like the ones he gave noblility.

“He worries his affections won’t be returned,” Zevran pointed out, shaking his head, “You never know until you try, I say.”

“Romances between travelling companions can be so rewarding,” Leliana slyly murmured, and Carver’s blue eyes widened slightly.

“Who…?”

“You.” Alistair’s head whipped around as he gaped in horror at Morrigan, standing there with her empty stew bowl, bored expression in place, “He’s been pining and lusting after you Hawke.” a smirk curved up her lips as she swanned past towards the river, “Whew, I’m so glad I got that off my chest, don’t you?”

“Buhhh…” Alistair tried to speak but an incoherent noise left his lips instead.

“Alistair,” Carver’s voice was warmer now, and when Alistair looked around he saw the man was kneeling in front of him, the forgotten about plate amour between them. He also realised that Leliana and Zevran had disappeared.

Sharding rogues.

“I am…” Alistair swallowed, “So sorry, Carver.”

The smile on Carver’s lips faded once more, “Sorry?” the taller man shook his head, “Why in Thedas would you be sorry?”

“I didn’t want...to put you...if you don’t…” He babbled and then rubbed his face, “Maker...what a mess.”

“I think it’s less of a mess than you think,” Carver murmured, and then suddenly that large, strong hand was there, cradling his cheek, the thumb brushing his jaw, “I think...we’ve both been idiots.”

Alistair could hardly breathe, “You mean.”

Carver nodded and leaned in, lips catching Alistair’s softly, in a sweet, almost chaste kiss. “It’s mutual.”

Alistair sighed into the kiss, happier than he could ever remember, joy fizzing through his body, “You...want me.”

“I love you.” Carver corrected firmly, “Not just your body...nice as that is.”

Alistair flushed, “Ah...yes...well...right back at you.”

Carver grinned, that bright smile so rarely rewarded but so worth earning, and leaned in to kiss him once more.

“I hope this means you’ll refrain from whining about him from now on,” Morrigan’s voice broke into their moment, just before Carver’s lips could find Alistair’s once more, “It’s been utterly insufferable.”

Alistair spluttered, but Carver puffed a laugh against his lips and kissed him sweetly before turning to face Morrigan, “Off with you,” he smirked, and Alistair tightened his grip on the man’s shirt, “Or I’ll start having to share some of your thoughts about a certain…”

Morrigan hurried away.

“That’s what I thought,” Carver grinned, and took Alistair’s hand in his, slipping something into his palm. It was a Runestone, black as the void, the rune gleaming like moonlight upon it, “Bodahn says that this rune means strength. And that’s what you are to me.” He coughed awkwardly, “Is that...okay?”

Alistair shoved his armour aside and kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more Carver Hawke to come! Feel free to ask for anything you like, I love getting ideas and inspiration.


End file.
